Shenandoah
by Dinogeek
Summary: Or, Sherlock and the guitarist. He'd never meant to play in public, and certainly not with a stranger he'd met on the street two weeks ago. But here he was...


**A/N: I pretty much wrote this because I needed some pure, unadulterated fluff to get myself over Reichenbach. T-T The video I based the arrangement off of (and I highly recommend that you listen to it, because it's amazing) is on YouTube, if you look up '"Oh Shenandoah" Violin & Guitar Duo'. It's by a group called Gracenotes Chamber Music, or something very similar to that. On a sidenote, I can't emphasize enough how warm and fuzzy reviews make me, so y'all should take the hint, eh? ^-^**

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><p>They didn't mean to start playing together. Not intentionally, at least, and certainly not in public. When Sherlock Holmes played his violin, it was for himself or, more recently, for John. Not for anyone else, unless they just happened to be within earshot. It wasn't that he was a bad player, as a matter of fact it was quite the opposite; when he put his mind to it he was an exceptionally skilled violinist, but he had an aversion to playing in front of an audience. So it was a surprise to him when he did indeed find himself playing, in front of other people, with a woman he'd met on the street two weeks ago.<p>

It all started when a string broke. Sherlock had been tuning the D when it went out with a surprisingly high-pitched pop. Scowling, he extricated the remains and went to get a new one. One of the better things about living in a city was that most everything you wanted was walking distance away, but that necessitated walking, which was something Sherlock didn't like to do when he could avoid it. Still, he couldn't play a violin with three strings, and the music store was just two streets away, so walking it was. He was outside the flat door when he ran into Hannah. Literally, in fact.

"Oh! Sorry!" she exclaimed as they bumped off of each other. The collision had knocked the new pack of strings out of his hand, and as she picked it up for him, she asked, "So how long have you played the violin?" Sherlock laughed briefly, thinking all the way back to kindergarten.

"A long time," he responded.

"You any good at it?" She was angling towards something, he could tell, but he played along.

"Yes, quite." She nodded slowly, than decided to go all in.

"You should play with our group. We need a violinist. It's just practices right now, but it's real fun." She looked at him with the air of someone who was convinced they would win the debate no matter what, humming a tune.

"I don't really play with other people too much, but it was nice of you to offer," he returned. He took out his key and turned to enter. Hannah did her slow nod again, handed him the strings, and replied,

"Alright then, but if you want to give it a go, you can just call me." She handed him a business card with the group name and a phone number at the bottom. She walked off, still looking like she'd win the debate, and gave him a broad smile over her shoulder. Sherlock couldn't help but think that she seemed awfully confident in herself. Shaking his head, he opened the door and went in.

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><p>That night, Sherlock played a song he hadn't heard in years. He couldn't even remember the title of it, but he knew the notes from someplace long ago. He often played the violin at somewhat egregious times of night, mostly to help John sleep after a nightmare, when he would never come downstairs, but Sherlock knew he was awake. He couldn't tell where on earth this tune had come from, but it felt familiar. Then he remembered. He couldn't help but smile to himself. That was the one Hannah had been humming it outside his flat, and she must have been planning on it getting stuck in his head. The song really was an earworm, come to think of it, but it was absolutely beautiful, and he didn't mind playing it.<p>

He just wished that he could remember the title, but he was fairly certain that he would see Hannah again soon, and he could ask her then. So, he kept on playing the nameless song, adding different variations each time, something here, something there. Before he knew it, he was working on a whole solo piece. But somehow it didn't seem right. Something was off, missing.

As he had predicted, he 'ran into' Hannah again the very next day. She gave him a decidedly fake innocent smile. He raised an eyebrow in return.

"You deliberately got that song stuck in my head, didn't you?" Her 'innocent' grin widened, and she started to laugh. "I'll take that as confirmation," he finished drily.

"Did it work?"

"Yes, as you'll be pleased to know. The blasted thing's been in my head all night. What's it called?"

"It's called Shenandoah. It's from America, it's a bluegrass song. I heard it when I was visiting my cousin. He lives in the States." It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you like it?" Sherlock was caught. He couldn't say that he didn't, because even for him that would be a blatant lie, but he knew if he did say yes then she had effectively roped him into playing with her group, at least for one practice. He settled for an 'I know what you're up to' glare. Hannah laughed.

"Oh, come on, it won't be that bad. We're very casual, and you don't have to come more than once."

"Do you often co-opt people off the street to play with you?" he returned. She laughed harder.

"How do you think the group got started in the first place? So, will you come?"

"What if I say I'll come, but then I don't?" They were both messing with each other, each testing the other's resolve.

"Well, I know where you live, don't I?" She smiled and arched her eyebrows. Sherlock sighed and shook his head.

"Alright, I'll come to one, but I'm not making any promises. When do you meet?" Hannah did a little jump.

"We meet at my friend Joseph's house this Friday night. Seven in the evening. I'll meet you here and then show you where it is." She grinned broadly at him and said goodbye. As he watched her depart, Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into.

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><p>"So, let me get this straight, she actually tricked you? I mean, for real?" Sherlock glared across the room.<p>

"Oh, shut up, John. Just because _you've_ never managed it doesn't mean it's impossible. Quite the opposite, in fact." To anyone else, that would have been insulting, but John had lived with Sherlock long enough to recognize his 'joking' tone of voice. Sherlock continued to glare from his spot stretched end to end on the couch. "It's Friday at seven."

"The practice? Or are you doing something else?"

"No, can't get out of it, I'm afraid; she knows our address." John looked impressed.

"Well, she certainly makes a sound job of things. Got you roped in good and proper, didn't she?" Sherlock glared harder as John worked on keeping his face straight. It didn't go so well. He smiled at the taller man. "It's worth giving it a try; you might actually like it." His smile widened. "Besides, it's not as if you have much of a choice." Sherlock couldn't think of a suitably clever response, so he contented himself with throwing a pillow at the other man. John ducked, and then threw it back, landing it squarely on Sherlock's chest. Although he would never under pain of death admit to it, Sherlock was actually looking forward to the practice as Friday rolled around. It had been a slow week in crime, and Lestrade had been more than able to finish up his case load without the detective's help. When faced with the prospect of nothing to do, Sherlock found that he would much rather play music with a group of strangers. So, instrument in hand, he met Hannah outside at six thirty that evening and followed her to a small flat a couple of streets away. There were five other people in the group, two men and three women, with Hannah and Sherlock making seven.

"So, you're the one she grabbed off the street?" Joseph asked him with a rueful grin. "We've tried to stop her doing it, but that's how she got most of us, so really we can't complain." They were nicer then Sherlock had expected; he had seen before the results of his standoffish attitude when he met new people. He gave them a small smile and introduced himself.

"Hey Joseph, if anyone breaks into your house, you can ask him for help!" Hannah teased. Joseph laughed out loud and motioned around the chaotic room.

"And steals _what_?" he responded.

"I don't know," one of the others cut in, "your beer bottle collection? They could use it to catalogue bacterial growth rates!" Joseph went with it wholeheartedly.

"Oh, yeah, especially the old ones. Got some stuff growing in there that's colors I've never seen before."

"So, I guess the basic overall point is, breaking in to Joseph's flat is about as useful as stealing a three-wheeled car." Joseph mulled the point over for a second, and then nodded.

"Pretty much, yeah. It's actually kind of disappointing, isn't it?" He laughed. "Okay, we're being lazy, it's time to actually start playing. Come on."

The practice proved itself to be quite fun, and Sherlock discovered that Hannah hadn't been lying when she told him they were informal. That was almost putting it lightly. The music was interspersed with jokes and comments at each other's expense, and they couldn't seem to refrain from laughing at themselves when they messed up an ending or missed the repeat. Sherlock watched them curiously when he wasn't playing, but he more or less kept to himself; as friendly as they were, to say that he wasn't an outgoing person was a bit like saying murder wasn't good. After the practice was over, Hannah launched phase two of her plan.

"You know, we're performing in a week or so at a pub a few streets away." She plucked at the strings of her guitar, playing out the song she'd gotten so entrenched in his head. "You should play with us." She gave him her fake innocent look and continued playing.

"You only asked me to come to one practice," Sherlock countered. "And I did. I'm not really the public performance type."

"Well, you don't have to do all the songs," she returned. "But I have to finish telling you my nefarious plan so you can inevitably agree to it." She switched to playing chords. "I only want to do the one song with you. Why do you think I got it stuck in your head? I've wanted to do that song ever since I heard it, but I need a violinist, and you are very conveniently very good at it. If you don't want to do any other songs with us, that's okay. But I'm quite determined to win you over on that one." Sherlock debated the merits of arguing his way out of it or simply giving in. He was _not _one to give up easily, but he found that he lacked the oomph necessary to argue. Still, though, he didn't like playing in public. But then, argued the other side, how many people would really show up for a pub concert on a Saturday evening? And it was only one song… what was the harm in it?

"Just the one?" Best to be absolutely sure. She nodded.

"Don't worry, definitely just the one. You and I could work out a duet of it and add it on to the end of the performance." She'd gotten him over, she could tell. Finally he scowled at himself for being conned into this and replied,

"Alright. You've won me over. But _only_ the one song." She smiled widely at him. "So I suppose we should start working on it if this is next Saturday."

By the end of the evening, between Sherlock's work on it already and Hannah's, they'd gotten a fairly nice rendition worked out. Sherlock took his leave and made his way back to Baker Street at ten.

"How did it go?" John asked as he walked in. Sherlock told him of Hannah's 'nefarious plot', as she put it, and John burst out laughing. "Wow. You've got to give it to her, she's absolutely determined. I didn't know there was anyone who could convince you to play in public. Where is it again?" The performance was in a pub about six streets over. John thought hard, the name striking him as familiar. "Oh yeah, I've been there; it's right near Scotland Yard." His wide grin got even wider. "How'd you like it if some of them showed up?" Sherlock scowled at him, responding,

"I'll have you know it starts at seven and none of their shifts end until nine. Are you coming?"

"Of course I am; you play really well and more importantly there's going to be beer. Why wouldn't I?"

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><p>Saturday night arrived soon (the interim period again being devoid of crime) and Sherlock found himself, as he had done for much of that week, wondering what the hell he'd been thinking to agree to this. It wasn't out of stage fright, he just never bothered to play publicly and didn't want to change now. Still, he couldn't exactly get out of it; John wouldn't let him, and nor would his pride. Once he agreed to do something, nothing on earth would stop him from going through with it. He took a seat near the stage, nodding to Hannah when she waved at him, and John sat next to him, handing him a beer. The group had obviously worked hard, and it showed. Their songs ranged all the way from medieval to Celtic to American bluegrass, and their performance was nearly an hour long. Finally Hannah leaned over where Sherlock sat.<p>

"This is our last one of the night, and then after this I'm making you fulfill my cunning plan." She grinned at him and turned back to her music. The last piece was another traditional American song, one of those upbeat, high-energy ones that made the audience want to clap and stamp their feet along with the tempo. They finished it off with a slightly improv ending, and after the audience had settled back down Hannah stood up to thank them all for coming.

"Thanks so much, you guys, we love it when the audience gets into it and doesn't just sit there and stare at us. You can't leave yet, though, we've got one more piece. Well, not really 'we' so much as me and him." She gestured to Sherlock, who had begun tuning his violin. "This is Sherlock Holmes, the rather… unofficial member of our group, in the sense that I got him to play with me by literally pulling him in off the street last weekend. Remarkably, this didn't send him heading for the hills, so he and I are going to do a duet of this old American folk song called Shenandoah. I'm pretty sure most of you have probably heard it before, but, hey, you can sit through it once again, can't you?"

Sherlock joined her on the stage as she picked up her guitar. Then, they started playing. John had heard Sherlock play before, of course, many times. But he'd never heard him play with somebody else; it was absolutely gorgeous. It started out with a violin solo, playing one verse, and then Hannah joined in, arpeggiating the chords and throwing in little variations while Sherlock kept with the melody. Finally, though, the song stilled to a finish, and applause broke the calm air it had cast over everyone. Hannah smiled quietly and thanked Sherlock.

"I think that went well; that song's always been one of my favorites, and you played it fantastically. If you ever want to come back and play with us some night, feel free. We'd love it if you did."

"It was… fun. I've never performed in front of a crowd before. Your group is very good." The two shook hands and Hannah went off to pack her stuff into the car, while Sherlock rejoined John, who had gotten him another beer. "So how did I sound?" John smiled at him.

"You sounded really good, especially with the guitar also; do you think you'll ever play with her again?" Sherlock looked thoughtful.

"I might; I still have her card, and she's said if I ever want to come by for a practice I'm welcome to." In spite of his usual reclusive nature, it really had been fun to play with Hannah and her friends. None of them were dull or stupid (something he couldn't say about most people) and they were all very skilled musicians. If he ever got spare time, it might be fun to go back there for a rehearsal. John laughed.

"I never thought I'd hear you actually considering the idea of spending time around people!" Sherlock smiled and gave a slight laugh.

"You know, I never thought I'd hear it either. It doesn't really fit with me, does it?" Sherlock finished casing up his violin and leaned back in his chair, feeling remarkably calm. Shenandoah was still floating through his head; it was a very relaxing song, one that automatically conjured up memories of the old days in the past, and made you wonder what it was like _back then_.

He sat with John for a while, lost in thought, until the two men left the pub and went back to their flat. As John prepared to go to bed a couple hours later, he said goodnight to Sherlock, who was stretched out on the couch, gazing at the ceiling. The taller man appeared to be completely oblivious to him, still lost in thought, so John grinned and shook his head, going up to his room. Sherlock halfway registered John's goodnight, his mind still stuck in the 1800s; finally, though, he pulled himself out of his reverie (ten minutes after the doctor had gone to sleep) before happily returning to the past. "Goodnight, John."


End file.
